


Turandot: A Ghost Story

by DefinitelyNotScott



Category: Turandot - Puccini
Genre: Collection: Purimgifts Day 3, Gen, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-15 17:53:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18078176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DefinitelyNotScott/pseuds/DefinitelyNotScott
Summary: What bond stretched out over time to bring us together, Turandot and myself? I do not know. Perhaps her blood was too true to mine, perhaps she cried out to her ancestors and my soul was the one to echo back her cry - I only know that one day the afterlife could not hold me and I slipped back into the world beside a pale and hollow-eyed Turandot. Since that day I have been by her side, and I have held nothing back from her.





	Turandot: A Ghost Story

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reconditarmonia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reconditarmonia/gifts).



> My process on this one
> 
>   * It's ridiculous that the suitors' ghosts get a speaking role when Lo-u-Ling is _right there_!
>   * And they were worried that Liù would become an evil spirit because of the way she died! I should incorporate that!
>   * *reads finished product*
>   * T_T Liù.... I'm sorry Liù...
> 


The shades were milling around this latest suitor, stirred to confusion by his success, practically breaking out in a riot when he relented to cast his contemptuous riddle at Turandot’s feet. I placed myself between her and their violent roiling. My wrath congealed in lashing waves, beating like a heart. If only I could scourge them back to their graves with its chill, but I could not leave her. 

Her noble head bowed in a nod of acceptance.The cool balm of satisfaction calmed me. Let his pride burn away his wit, Turandot would not be such a fool as to decline the opportunity he gave her. I turned to follow behind her as she ascended the stairs, one hand on her shoulder to lend her my strength. Her posture was rigid as an icicle, and perhaps as brittle.

Inside, away from prying eyes, she came to a halt, staring out blankly. Her beautiful blue dress impeccable, her spine straight and shoulders back, she was the picture of cool elegance, despite the tempest of emotion I could sense within.

“Lo-u-Ling,” she said. “I would rather die than marry a man whose heart does not fracture at your story... our story.” The bond between us sang and I drew close, radiating comfort, whispering promises of blood and vengeance. 

Her lips pressed together in a grim line. “No other will defend me, so I must defend myself.” She stepped forward, leaving the moment of introspection behind, and called to her servants. The hunt was on.

A thrill of relief shot through me at the distant cries of discovery. When we found the suitor waiting I could taste his fear! But the brave, stupid girl would rather die than let his name spill from her lips.

The icy grip of my rage clenched around the traitor who left his dagger unguarded, and Turandot lashed him for his delinquency. Turning back to the scene of the tragedy, I saw her check and her face contort with anguish. The outpouring of pity for Liù, an unknown girl, pained her when they would never show such to her.

The old man’s voice rose in accusation, “You will all pay for this! The offended spirit will take revenge!” And he was right. I could see her ghost forming by her corpse, shimmering into existence. 

Brave Turandot’s handmaidens rushed to hide her face from any hostile shade, and I observed Liù’s flickering rebirth. A guardian spirit such as myself is much different than a vengeful spirit, bound to earth by their misfortune. 

The funeral cortège departed, and I only recognized the danger when the suitor began to speak. He spat accusations at her as I stayed by her side, radiating support... until he snatched away her protective veil. 

The grasp and pull was too close to history, the reminder too strong. My armor, built over time, melted away and I was left unprotected from the horrors of my past. Turandot still stood defiant, meeting his every arrogant proclamation with the contempt it deserved. I, however, quailed at his proximity, the poison of memory spreading through me. 

Shrinking back behind Turandot while they argued back and forth, I couldn’t stand his burning passion flaring higher and higher. Surely I would melt away to nothingness, or be charred to ash and smoke. But I must protect Turandot! The past was rising up again to consume us, I felt sick and weak. 

He seized her in his arms and I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t stand it! Turandot went rigid, then limp as her spirit began to separate from her body. Detached observation was less painful to her than enduring the furnace-heat of his arrogance. I could do no better, falling away from her to escape the feel of hot breath on my skin. 

My eye fell on Liù’s shade where she stood watching, my desperate thoughts crystalizing into an idea. Would she help? Could the murderous spirit of a vengeful ghost be turned to good use? Half-collapsed, I raised my hands in supplication. “Help her!” I cried. My little Turandot would rather die than have him as her husband. “Help her! You had the courage once before! He has a blade!” She would rather die. 

Liù’s eyes drifted to me, and in an instant of decision she flitted past with a rush of dry, dead air. Even in my betrayal Turandot’s spirit reached for me and I stretched to take her hand, still driven back by the pressing heat.

“What has become of me?” Turandot murmured, the voice of her spirit strangely disjointed from the words exhaled weakly from her mouth. “I’m lost.” And she sounded lost, a child alone in the woods, her spirit faint and flimsy in my grasp.

I looked up to see that like a crab on the shore Liù had begun to clothe herself in Turandot’s shell. “What are you doing?” I hissed. 

“Didn’t I say she would love him too?” 

The words filled me with horror and some of my strength returned. Immediately I funneled it to Turandot, who rallied enough to lament her defeat in the face of our enemy, little though it touched his heart.

“Must you serve as chang[1] for the tiger?” I spat at Liù, incredulous. Turandot could reclaim herself if the usurper was distracted.

Bridling, she almost swelled with anger. “You are the chang!” she hissed. “How many have you fed into her icy maw?”

“None!” I said, filled with righteous indignation. “They all brought themselves - and could depart at their pleasure! But you! You bring her to your tiger against her will! He will eat her heart, and you knew how it would be! You said you would give him her love! It is not yours to give!”

Angry flames sprang up in her eyes, ready to swallow everything in her path. “Then I will give him mine!” She shoved Turandot aside, so that she stumbled in the midst of proclaiming her hatred.

“No!” I shrieked, leaping to prevent the expulsion. My help ensured Turandot retained a thin connection to her body, but Liù’s strength burned brightly and her cool light waned in comparison. 

Liù substituted a confession of love using Turandot’s lips, while I swept her spirit up in my arms, fading, tenuous and insubstantial even as I watched.

“No, sweet one, no!” I whispered before raising my voice in desperation. “Turandot! Turandot!”

“Turandot does not exist.” The listless words reverberated across our bond. 

I poured my strength into her, careless of my own wellbeing, and her spirit solidified, pushing Liù aside momentarily. “Do not seek the greater victory...” she entreated him, weak with the struggle. “Depart, stranger… with your mystery!” 

His avaricious eyes held no pity, devouring her with a look. “My mystery? I no longer have one!” he declared in overweening triumph. Apparently sensing the direction of his thoughts, Liù fought past to take control as the long-sought name spilled from his lips, “I am Calaf, son of Timur!”

“I know your name!” she said with such feeling that I almost pitied her. But with her goal so clearly in sight the vigor it supplied meant I could not afford to spare her any. Fighting against her hope and hunger, Turandot could not prevail even with my help. 

The crowd roared like a consuming fire as the ‘happy couple’ ascended the stairs. Turandot was right, there was no other to defend her. But I would not be like them. Advancing side-by-side, his blade was within reach of her hand.

Bearing down with all my will on this one small thing I curled her fingers around the hilt. Liù sensed the action and turned on me, thinking she knew my goal, but I relinquished control of the hand without a fight, instead using the momentum of her attack to pull her away from Turandot.

She fought like a wild thing, like a tiger defending her cubs, like a cornered boar rushing the hunters. I let her batter at me with no thought for myself; time was all I fought for. I had faith that she would decide her own best course. Whichever heart was pricked was Turandot’s to choose.

**Author's Note:**

> 1[According to wikipedia,](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ghosts_in_Chinese_culture#Types_of_ghosts) a chang (伥/倀) is a specific type of ghost in Chinese folklore - someone who died from a tiger's bite but has come back to lure more victims to the tiger. The idiom wèihǔzuòchāng (为虎作伥/爲虎作倀) translates to "serving as a chang for the tiger" or "serving as the tiger's accomplice," and is used to refer to someone helping a villain do evil when they started as either disinterested to or a victim of the villain. [return to text]
> 
> * * *
> 
> I know you said it was okay to use AUs in this fandom, but this one got away from me and went a little weird. Sorry about that... I _do_ like the premise though, so I may make another attempt some time... and be nicer to Liù. T_T


End file.
